“He looks like a corpse,” says one of the ladies.
And she is right.
“Dissipation,” says another.
But that is anything but true. He takes no part in the conversation, for he has nothing to say to these women. But his wife talks for two. While he swallows his food, his ears are made to listen to rich praise of all that is base, and vile abuse of all that is noble and good.
When luncheon is over he takes his wife aside.
“I wish you would send Louisa to the tailor’s with my coat; a seam has come undone and I haven’t the time to sew it up myself.”
She makes no reply, but instead of sending the coat by Louisa, she takes it herself and walks to the village where the tailor lives.
In the garden she meets some of her emancipated friends who ask her where she is going.
She replies, truthfully enough, that she is going to the tailor’s for her husband.
“Fancy sending her to the tailor’s! And she allows him to treat her like a servant!”